Chapter 20 #2
“George Clooney,” Simon interrupted.
I laughed. “Not you, too?”
“You don’t think he’s kind of hot?” Simon asked, brows rising innocently. “I mean, I’m not really into older men, but if I was...”
“You’re teasing me,” I complained, ninety percent sure I was right.
Simon broke into one of his big, lopsided, signature grins. “She said the same thing to me about him,” he said. “While she was telling me she’d moved on from you.”
“Ouch.”
Simon shrugged. “The heart wants what it wants. Can’t do anything about that.”
Yeah. Yeah, he was right about that.
I didn’t even want to do anything about it. I liked being in love with Simon. Even if it was hopeless. It was a warm, soft thing I could tuck under my ribs. A pillow for my heart to lean on when it needed the support.
“I guess I see the resemblance?” I allowed, nose wrinkled.
Simon kissed me on the tip of it. I sighed, settling against him again, letting my forehead rest against his shoulder this time.
“Tell me about your morning,” I said.
“Well,” Simon began. “I was glad there was booze in the orange juice, for a start.”
“That bad?” I murmured, turning my face to nuzzle his neck, to let my lips brush against the salt of his skin. This was my only chance. I had to make the most of it.
Simon sighed. “It was fine.”
“You always say that. Even when it’s not fine. Especially when it’s not fine.”
Simon huffed. “It was fine, honestly. We went over the order of the ceremony with the celebrant about three hundred times so the good news is I can now take a nap while we do it because muscle memory will take over. It was just...”
“Just...?” I prompted, straightening so I could look Simon in the eyes.
He never complained. If he was about to, I wanted him to know I was listening.
He sighed again, looking away from me. “Just... spent the morning with the rest of Corey’s friends, the wedding party, y’know?”
“Were they mean to you? Because—”
“No,” Simon interrupted with a little self-deprecating laugh. “No, uh, they were really sweet, actually. One of them said they liked my glasses and meant it, and another told me she was jealous of my freckles.”
“Envious,” I said automatically. “You’re jealous of something when you have it and someone else wants it. You’re envious of things other people have.”
Simon gave me a look. Both brows raised, the hint of a smile playing around his lips.
“Sorry—”
“Pet peeve, I know. I think you’re fighting a losing battle with that one, but obviously I’m completely on your side and think this is an important distinction. One of the pillars of the English language, even.”
“You’re making fun of me,” I said, smiling fondly at him. I didn’t normally take being made fun of well, but it was different when Simon did it. I knew he did it because he was comfortable around me, and he knew I was comfortable around him. “And trying to avoid the subject. What happened?”
Simon shrugged. “Nothing happened,” he said. “I just spent the morning surrounded by beautiful people. I don’t really want to be one of them, it’s just—”
“You don’t think you’re beautiful?” I interrupted, brow raised.
Simon raised the opposite brow, one corner of his mouth quirking up wryly. As though the answer was obvious. As though it was that he didn’t think he was beautiful.
I’d never thought of Simon as insecure about the way he looked. To me, he always seemed supremely confident. The most at home in his own skin of anyone I’d ever known.
Although, that wasn’t quite the same, was it? You could be comfortable with anything.
Even believing, despite being the most beautiful man in the world, that you weren’t.
“I think you’re beautiful,” I said. I’d never said it aloud in all the time I’d known Simon, too afraid of revealing too much, but I couldn’t stand the idea that he didn’t know. That not knowing might hurt him.
He’d said it to me enough times, casually, like it was an obvious fact of the universe. I’d thought he knew.
His brow rose another notch.
Wow. He really didn’t know. This was a surprise to him.
“Simon...” I began, looking over his face. “You’re... you’re the most beautiful person I know,” I said, struggling to gather my thoughts. How did you put a decade’s worth of being in awe of someone into words?
This was why I was an editor and not a writer. I could make someone else’s words clearer, sharper, but I needed something to start from.
“You’re...” I started again, taking a deep breath.
“You glow. You light up any room you walk into. When you smile, it’s like the sun coming out on a cloudy day.
You’re so kind and sweet and good, and all of that is written all over your face.
Why do you think people flock to you? You are beautiful. ”
I could tell from the look in his eyes that he didn’t really believe me. That it wasn’t getting through to him.
I’d run out of words. All I could do was...
Simon made a surprised squeak when I kissed him, which was fair, given how fast I’d surged forward. His glasses bumped against my brow—his, too, probably—and his hands tightened on my waist, as though he’d been startled into holding me tighter.
I raised my hands to his face again, pulling back just far enough to remove his glasses. I paused for a moment to look him in the eyes, soft and unfocused now, before setting the glasses aside and leaning in again.
I could show him like this. Show him how gorgeous he was, how unbearably sexy, how much I wanted him.
He made another sound of surprise as I slipped a hand between us, tugging up the hem of his shirt and splaying my fingers over his skin.
I smiled against his mouth, wriggling closer, grinding against him.
I wasn’t hard, yet, but just touching Simon, knowing I could, was enough to send blood rushing south.
“You can’t be serious,” Simon murmured.
I froze, fingers flexing against his stomach.
“Can’t I?” I asked cautiously, too afraid to pull back. Too afraid of what the look on his face might be.
I was asking too much. I’d thought I was offering something, something that might make Simon feel a little better about himself, but I wasn’t, was I?
I was making the most of this. Taking advantage. The thing I tried so hard not to do with Simon, of all people, because I knew there was nothing he wouldn’t do for me.
Like letting me sink into the fantasy of being his boyfriend.
“I mean, I suppose—”
“This a private party, or is anyone invited?” Corey’s absolutely, positively unwanted voice came from behind us.
I pulled back, taking a breath to respond—only to be stopped by a firm squeeze of my hip.
Simon was probably right to stop me. Even if I didn’t mean to, I was liable to start a fight right now.
“I genuinely hate to break this up,” Corey said. “But we’ve got twenty minutes before showtime and Simon’s still not dressed. Your mother will kill us both if we’re late.”
“She’s about to be your mother,” Simon muttered.
Corey snorted. “Thank you for the reminder. Tell her that for me.”
Simon’s lips twitched. He looked away from Corey to meet my eyes, smile turning apologetic. “Duty calls.”
I slipped off his lap, wondering if he was grateful for the rescue.
Madelaine was right. I needed to talk to him.
Unfortunately, I still didn’t know, exactly, what I needed to talk to him about.